


Paralysis by Analysis

by louciferish



Series: YOI tumblr shorts [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Anxiety, Author is a Tease, Business AU, Crying, Drinking, M/M, Public Speaking, canon pet death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-04 23:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15851532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: He blew it. Yuuri had a job interview at THE most prominent company is his field, and he blew it.Instead, he's ending his big day in the strangely familiar position of weeping in a bathroom stall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr. Took off to an unexpected degree, so there may be more bits coming.
> 
> I wrote most of this on my phone during a business trip.

Yuuri barely manages to latch the stall door before hot tears spill from his eyes. He sinks onto the toilet seat, burying his face in his hands.

How had it all gone so wrong? This was meant to be his moment - the day he'd finally be able to prove that the hard work and isolation and expensive schools on the other side of the world were worth it.

Instead, he's ending his big day in the strangely familiar position of weeping in a bathroom stall 

The executive’s words play on repeat. _“It's not that you aren't qualified,_ ” he said, with a wrinkle of his nose that was louder than his voice. _“It's a matter of cultural fit…”_

It was worse than a breakup. _It’s not us; it’s you._

The bathroom door swings open on squeaky hinges, and shoes clack across the tile floor. Yuuri clasps both hands over his mouth, muffling the sound of his sobs.

He watches in stifled silence as a pair of shiny black shoes pass by his hiding place. His heart pounds in his ears. The only thing worse than crying in a bathroom is being _caught_ crying in a bathroom.

He listens to the man’s shuffling movements, waiting for him to leave. 

The interview wouldn't have been so bad - _Yuuri_ wouldn't have been so bad, if not for-

His shuddering gasp echoes off the tile.

The sound of rushing water cuts off abruptly.

“Hello?” The man says, hesitant. “Are you- is everything alright in there? Should I get someone?”

“No,” Yuuri gasps, scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his overpriced suit. “I’m fine, thank you. I just need a minute.”

“Are you… crying?” He sounds almost as distressed as Yuuri by the idea. His voice drops to a low murmur as he talks to himself, and Yuuri can only make out the word “crying” again.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Yuuri says hastily. “Don't worry. I'll be okay.”

There's a beat of silence for Yuuri to hope he'll give up, and then the man says, “Please. Maybe I can help if you tell me.”

The stranger’s voice has a calm, kind note that almost makes Yuuri believe he genuinely wants to help.

“I had a job interview today,” he confesses.

“Oh, congratulations,” the stranger says, his tone breezy. “How did it-” he cuts off abruptly. “That is a stupid question,” he finishes. “Please don’t answer.”

Yuuri makes a choked sound between a laugh and a sob. “How do you think it went?”

“I’m sorry.” The distressed voice is back. The shoes pace outside Yuuri’s stall, tapping on the tile. “I wish I could do something… Oh! I know what cheers me up!”

There's a quiet shuffling noise, and then a phone slides under the stall door. Yuuri rears back, alarmed, then leans forward to see.

“This is my Makkachin,” the stranger says proudly.

On the tiny screen between Yuuri’s feet is a poodle, tongue lolling out from a teddy bear face. She's brown, and big, but she looks so much like-

The tears flow once more as Yuuri collapses into his own arms, wracked with sobs.

“OH MY GOD,” the man gasps, and a pale hand scrambles under the door to grab the phone. “I didn't mean to upset you. Do you not like dogs?”

“My dog,” Yuuri gasps, hearing his words garbled and broken by grief. He can barely understand himself, but somehow manages to explain. _Vicchan._

The last tethers of control slip from Yuuri’s hands at the thought. He can hear his own choked sounds amplified by the acoustics, but he can’t find his shame anymore. 

Eventually, his cries quiet, then stop. His face is sticky and swollen. He blows his nose on the last scrap of toilet paper. Aside from the grossness, he’s strangely settled, like the dark blanket of heavy air that follows a summer storm.

Yuuri clears his throat and scrubs at his face with the sleeve of his blazer. “Are you still there?” he calls.

“Yes.” The shoes click back into Yuuri’s view beneath the door. “I don’t- I didn’t know what else to do.” His voice drops and he mutters to himself, “Why am I so bad at this?”

“Thank you for waiting for me,” Yuuri interrupts before the stranger can slip further down that path. “It did help, having someone nearby.”

There are no tissues left to dry his face on, but the grief seems to have passed for now. Yuuri lurches to his feet on somewhat noodley legs. “I’m ready to come out now,” he says, sounding much firmer than he feels. “Could you… please leave so I can clean up?” 

“Yes. Absolutely.” Relief threads through the stranger’s voice at the reprieve. “I can do that.”

Squeaking hinges, then the quiet thump of the door closing, and Yuuri lets his head drop for a moment to rest against the stall door before disengaging the latch.

The young man in the mirror is a strange creature, with his blotchy skin and deeply shadowed eyes. Yuuri removes his glasses and turns on both taps at the sink. The cool water is soothing on his face, and he slicks his hair back before dabbing at his skin with a paper towel.

It’s the worst day of his life so far, but at least it can’t get any worse. He has nothing left to lose.

He tucks his glasses into his shirt pocket and takes a deep breath, then pushes the door open.   
It stops abruptly, jammed against an obstacle.

“Oh, there you are,” says a familiar voice. “I was guarding the door. Are you feeling better?”

Yuuri looks up. Sparkling blue eyes smile down at him from beneath familiar coiffed silver hair - familiar because he just saw it in a portrait, hanging in the boardroom during his interview. 

Victor Nikiforov, recently named one of the Top 20 CEOs in the world by Forbes for the second year in a row, offers Yuuri a monogrammed handkerchief.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to WeWriteVictuuri because their "I need you to help me fake my death" prompt broke my block on this AU just in time. 
> 
> I have plans for this series of shorts fully outlined now. There are 8-9 parts in total (depending on if I decide to split the last part up for length).

“I need you to help me fake my death.”

Phichit glances up from his laptop as the apartment door slams. “Interview not go well?” he guesses.

Yuuri drops his messenger bag on the kitchen counter and shrugs out of his blazer, then crosses the living room, falling onto the sofa beside his roommate. “Victor Nikiforov gave me his phone number.”

“What?” Phichit lights up, a smile stretching across his face although his eyes are still focused on the spreadsheet in front of him. “Wow, Yuuri. I knew you could do it! With a resume like yours, how could they say no?”

“No, it’s not like that.” Yuuri runs a hand through his hair, not meeting Phichit’s eyes as he slumps back. “I didn’t get the job.”

The click of the keyboard stops, and Phichit closes his laptop with a snap, turning toward Yuuri. “Are you serious? I thought you had it in the can! And you met Victor?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, cheeks warming. “But it wasn’t in the interview.” He gives Phichit the abbreviated, less mortifying version of what happened, and watches as his roommate’s face morphs from delight to dismay and back again. “And then he gave me his card, and I… left.”

Phichit shakes his head. “Well, if N-Corp doesn’t realize their mistake and immediately call to apologize, you should come work for Ciao Co with me. From the look of their records, their last few interns were utter disasters, so I know they have entry level positions open.”

“Do you really think they’d hire me?” Yuuri asks. Ciao Co is still in the start-up phase. It’s not the prestigious first position he’d dreamed of, but Phichit seems to enjoy interning there. Maybe Yuuri would be a better _cultural fit_ with them.

“Yuuri,” Phichit’s voice turns scolding. “You were in the top 10 of your graduating class at Northwestern. It’s insane that N-Corp didn’t hire you. I’m sure Mr. Cialdini would be thrilled if you applied.”

“Thanks, Phichit,” Yuuri sighs. “I’ll think about it.”

Phichit pats Yuuri’s knee, then grabs his laptop again. “I have to finish some edits on this spreadsheet, but afterward we could watch a movie? Maybe with consolation ice cream?”

“No, thanks,” Yuuri says. Standing, he nods down the hall. “I’m going to go lie down.”

“Okay,” Phichit says, fingers already flying across the keys as Yuuri walks away. “If you need anything, just yell.”

Yuuri presses the door to his room closed behind him, then collapses onto his twin bed face first. Something carves a painful divot in his hip as he hits the bed, and he rolls to fish the embossed slip of cardstock from his pocket. 

He flips the card over in his hands. On the back, in messy ballpoint, is a phone number and a smiley face. 

Yuuri pulls out his wallet and tucks the card into one of the pockets. The gold foil edging sticks over the top of the battered leather like a bookmark.


	3. Chapter 3

“Mr. Cialdini, please. Do I have to?”

Yuuri’s boss sighs heavily and shakes his head, his hand warm but firm between Yuuri’s shoulders as he pushes him toward the door. “For the last time, Yuuri, yes. And call me Celestino! Now,” he punctuates the word with another shove. “Get out there and mingle!”

Yuuri stumbles through the glass doors and out into the sticky heat of the hotel roof. A sea of unfamiliar faces circles the rooftop pool, draped in expensive silk suits, designer bags, and calfskin shoes, all of which would be ruined in seconds if any of them overbalanced and fell into the water. 

The combination of an open bar, well-dressed conference attendees, and an uncovered pool seems like a recipe for disaster to Yuuri.

He scans the crowd again. Phichit’s familiar, excited tones carry from the covered patio by the bar, and Yuuri relaxes slightly. He won’t be facing the event alone, even if his boss did throw him to the wolves.

Slipping between pencil skirted women in red-soled shoes and men with patterned pocket squares in their blazers, Yuuri is arrested by a flash of silver, and his heart leaps to his throat.

Victor is here.

He walks faster, following Phichit’s amused giggle like a lighthouse through the storm.

“Yuuri,” Phichit’s eyes wrinkle as he approaches. “You made it after all!” He turns back to the unfamiliar man next to him, continuing, “Yuuri is the other Ciao Co employee coming tomorrow. He’ll be able to tell you-”

“Excuse me,” Yuuri interrupts, pulling Phichit away by his sleeve. Out of hearing, he whispers. “Victor Nikiforov is here.”

Phichit frowns, peering over Yuuri’s shoulder. “Of course he is. This is the biggest conference in our region. Why? Did he say something to you?”

“No.” Victor didn’t see Yuuri - did he? He probably wouldn’t recognize him if he _did_ , but still. Overactive nerves send Yuuri’s insides into spasms. A line of pre-filled wine glasses are balanced on the bar, and Yuuri grabs one, tilting his head back as he drains it.

Phichit catches him by the wrist. “Okay, take it easy,” he says. His smile is still plastered on, but his eyes are wide with concern. “Remember, we’re here representing Ciao Co.”

Yuuri nods, wincing internally. It would have been all too easy to forget, between Victor and the free drinks, even after the warning Celestino had given them. _More people are fired after a conference than promoted._

It doesn’t stop Yuuri from drinking, but he counts his glasses, sticking close by his roommate so as not to embarass himself or the company. He’s just picked up his third when Phichit turns, pulling the glass away to seize Yuuri’s hand in his own.

“Come on,” he says, grinning as he tugs them out into the open. “Dance with me. Maybe we can get the stuffed shirts moving.”

Yuuri’s sober enough to try to plant his feet, but also tipsy enough to think that dancing with Phichit sounds _wonderful_ , so that’s how he ends up in the center of a swirl of expensive cologne and fake laughter, his tailored jacket thrown over a deck chair so he can dip Phichit in his arms.

Somewhere in the sweat and the music, Yuuri loses himself, and one song becomes another and on until Phichit is pulling away, laughing and breathless. Others are dancing around them now, hemming them into the crowd.

“I need water,” Phichit says, dabbing his forehead with his sleeve. “And so do you. Stay here.”

He vanishes into the throng, leaving Yuuri alone in the middle of the makeshift dance floor.

Yuuri turns and jostles up against another pair of dancers. They stumble, listing dangerously toward the pool, and Yuuri grabs at them. Other hands join his, pulling the laughing, drunken pair back away from the water’s edge.

Yuuri looks up - to apologize to the pair, or to thank the people who helped, and finds himself caught in a pair of sparkling blue eyes, already widening in recognition.

“Bathroom boy!” Victor gasps in delight as the bumbling dancers slip away from between them, leaving Yuuri nowhere to hide. “No, wait.” He bends close, staring down at the nametag dangling from Yuuri’s neck. “Yuuri,” he reads, stretching the vowels as he rolls them over his tongue like expensive liquor.

His eyes drop to Victor’s own name tag, even though he knows his name already. Everyone here does. He frowns. “They spelled your name wrong.”

Victor tilts the badge up to read it himself. “‘Victor Niliforov’,” he muses. “So they did. I hadn’t even noticed.”

He drops the tag, letting it swing from his lanyard. “But Yuuri,” he says, eyes and tongue sharp. He draws Yuuri’s attention to his mouth, tapping his chin with one long finger as he purses his lips. “Are you trying to distract me? It’s been weeks, but you haven’t called. Did you lose my card?”

“N-no,” Yuuri pushes the words out through the flames on his face. “I have it.”

“Are you sure? I can get another.” When did Victor get so close? Around them, other attendees are still dancing, pressing in. Yuuri steps back. His heel dangles over the edge of the pool, and Victor’s hand snaps out to catch him by the tie, reeling him back.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” Victor says, savoring the new syllables. “Are you trying to get away from me?”  
Their faces are so close that Yuuri can taste the champagne on his breath. He gets caught in the silver spiderweb of eyelashes brushing over Victor’s cheeks.

And then he pulls away again, stepping to the side this time. Meaningless excuses fall from his lips. Busy. Lots of work to do. You understand. 

Over the steady thump of the music, someone is calling Yuuri’s name, but he runs anyway, and he doesn’t stop until he reaches his hotel room.


	4. Chapter 4

Yuuri wakes to his bed thumping against the wall, thrown by the impact of Phichit’s body catapulting from across the room. He groans, fuzzy with sleep, but grateful he didn’t overindulge at the party. A hangover would be murder right now.

“Wake up,” Phichit pleads, still far too loud for 6 AM. “Yuuri, Celestino is sick!”

That cuts through the fog even faster than the pillow Phichit smacks him with. 

“What?” Yuuri sits up, fumbling on the nightstand for his glasses. “Sick how?”

“I think there was shellfish in the mini-quiche.” Phichit is perched on Yuuri’s knees, wide-eyed, dishevelled, and still in his pajamas. “He’s _really_ ill. I’m worried about the presentation.”

Their time slot isn’t until after lunch, but if it’s that bad, “Can we cancel?”

Phichit hits him with the pillow again. “Yuuri! We worked too hard on this.” His hands twist in the sheets. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits. “No one at the office is answering their phones.”

Yuuri groans and rubs his eyes. Phichit is right. Their team has been in crunch for weeks making sure the platform would be ready to demo today. This is their big launch. If Celestino won’t be able to run the presentation, then...

“We’re going to have to do it,” Yuuri says. “I think I can run the demo if you’ll take the technical parts.”

“Of course you can,” Phichit says. He sounds confident, but his smile is flagging. “You know this thing better than anyone, but we haven’t practiced. I’ve never presented at a conference before, have you?”

Yuuri pulls his legs out from under Phichit’s and crawls out of the bed. He grabs his slacks from the back of the chair and fishes his wallet out of the back pocket. The gold foil strip winks at him over the top.

“No, but I may know someone who can help with that.”

-

Victor Nikiforov is sitting on the end of Yuuri’s bed in what’s probably Brioni. His long legs are crossed at the knee, and he holds a single finger to his lips as his shrewd eyes follow Phichit’s movements. Yuuri’s throat is dry. He’s about to have to speak, and he’ll be lucky if it comes out louder than a whisper.

He should have gotten a glass of water. He eyes the bathroom door. Maybe there’s time. 

“And now I’ll hand you over to Yuuri for the product demonstration!” Phichit announces.

Crap. There’s no time. Yuuri bows slightly as Phichit passes him the hairbrush they’re using as a microphone. 

“Um, yes. Hello,” he says. His voice is shaking, and he flushes as all that attention settles on him. Even though he’s the one who messaged Victor - _asked_ him to come - he hadn’t considered what it would be like to have Victor in the tiny room, focused on Yuuri alone.

Victor’s serious look breaks apart, a wide smile splitting his face. “Don’t be nervous!” he says. “If it helps, you can picture me naked!”

Phichit, who did get a glass of water, chokes.

Yuuri is probably redder than Phichit’s tie. It does not help.

But the lighter mood does, at least a little. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply to focus. When he opens them again, he stares at Victor directly. Later today, he may choke in the crowd, but right now, Yuuri wants to make Victor Nikiforov regret not hiring him.

Yuuri opens the demo and begins. He loses himself down familiar pathways and the time flashes by. Phichit was right. Yuuri might not have built this platform, but he uses it every day. He knows its twists and secrets. He’s done better than build it - he’s the one who’s broken it, and he shows off the fixes with confidence. 

He clicks the button to log out, then turns back to Victor. “Any questions?” he asks.

Victor taps his chin, then drops his hands to fold them in his lap. “Yes,” he says. “How much longer will it take you to bring this product to market? Who is your planned end user? You move through it very smoothly, but I worry that the interface is not intuitive enough in its current state. Oh, and you need to speak slower when you present, Yuuri! You were rushing!”

Yuuri blinks, caught in the rambling stream of questions. Thankfully, he has Phichit to back him up. His roommate steps up, pulling the hairbrush mic from Yuuri’s hand, and takes the floor.

In the end, Victor leans back on Yuuri’s bed - _Yuuri’s bed!_ He’s stuck on that again. - and nods. “You both did very well for a first time,” he says. “I’m impressed, and I’m sure the others will be as well.” 

“Really?” Phichit lights up at the praise and strides forward, clasping Victor’s hand to shake it. “Mr. Nikiforov, I don’t know how to thank you. If you hadn’t agreed to help, we’d be lost.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Victor says. He pats Phichit’s hand, then rises from the bed in a single smooth motion. “As for how to thank me - dinner, perhaps?”

Phichit starts to answer, then stutters to a halt.

Victor is close again. The unyielding edge of the TV stand digs into the flesh of Yuuri’s thighs as he leans back and Victor steps forward. “How about it?” he smiles like the shark the tabloids claim he is. “Yuuri, will you join me for dinner?”

It’s unexpected, but also not. Yuuri has low self-confidence, he knows this, but he’s not stupid or blind. Victor Nikiforov doesn’t know him - not really, not at all - but he clearly sees something in Yuuri. Whatever that may be, he likes it enough to pursue it with a single-mindedness that falls somewhere between terrifying and tantalizing.

Lucky for him, Yuuri wants it too. 

“Dinner,” he says, offering his hand to shake. “ _After_ we get back from this conference.”

Victor takes his hand, then meets his eyes as he presses a kiss to the knuckles. “I look forward to it.”


	5. Chapter 5

Yuuri keeps the door knob turned as he pulls it closed behind him. The apartment is dark and silent, so he steps lightly, toes off his shoes, and leaves them with his keys and bag by the door. If he’s lucky, he can avoid waking Phichit.

As he tiptoes through the living room, he can see a thin strip of light illuminating the hall, signalling that his roommate is still up despite the late hour. Yuuri tries to hop through to his room anyway, avoiding the spots on the floor that he knows will screech. 

He reaches out to open the bedroom door.

A hinge whines behind him, and he’s trapped in a dim gold spotlight.

“Yuuri,” Phichit calls. “Did you forget we have a presentation in the morning?”

Yuuri winces. He turns to see Phichit casting a frumpy shadow along the hall in his baggy red pajamas. “I didn’t forget,” he says. “Sorry. I just lost track of time.”

“I was almost impressed.” Phichit leans against the side of the door. He’s backlit, but what Yuuri can see of his face is decidedly not impressed. “I thought for sure weren’t coming home at all tonight.”

Yuuri shrugs, glad that Phichit probably can’t see him blush. Dinner had been wonderful. Victor was charming, as usual. The only thing different from the other dinners was that Victor had talked him into dessert, and then coffee, and, when the coffee turned out to be a bit Irish, he’d insisted on driving Yuuri home.

“I saw the Cadillac pull up outside,” Phichit teases. “Not up for taking the helicopter tonight, Miss Steele?”

“Phichit,” Yuuri groans. The romance novel heroine jokes are getting old. “I’m sorry I was out so late. You didn’t need to stay up for me.”

“You’re forgiven,” Phichit says, smiling as he waves Yuuri’s apologies away. “But next time at least make the waiting worth my while.” 

He disappears back into his room, and the light goes out. Yuuri finally escapes into his own sanctuary. He collapses back onto the bed, still clothed. He can smell the musky florals of Victor’s cologne clinging to the collar of his shirt, where Victor’s arm had curled across his shoulder on the way home. 

He pulls the fabric to his nose and inhales, then drops it quickly. What is wrong with him? They’ve been on five dinners now - _dates, Yuuri. They’re called dates._ \- and it’s everything he could have wished for, but he still can’t take it seriously. 

They’re like teenagers. They hold hands under the table at the restaurant, legs entwined, and bend their heads close until their foreheads touch, speaking into the other’s ear over the clink of silverware and the sound of violins. 

There have been so many moments already - Victor, holding the door of his Maserati, “Would you like a ride, Yuuri?”; Victor, slanting their hips together on the dance floor as his eyes sparkle in the dizzying light of a crystal chandelier; Victor, his breath hot on Yuuri’s cheek as he leans in, only for Yuuri to turn his head.

It’s not that Yuuri doesn’t want it. Of course he does. But he can’t silence the voice in the back of his mind screaming _why?_ Why him? And, worst of all, _how?_ How could he possibly be good enough for Victor Nikiforov, when he wasn’t good enough for N-Corp? It haunts him, hanging over every moment. 

The lights on the clock by his bed blink, the double-zeros of one AM staring him down in accusation. Phichit was right. He has a presentation in the morning. He needs to get up, get out of his dinner clothes, and get some rest. The feeling of Victor’s fingers still lingers, tingling against the nape of his neck. He doesn’t move, knowing it will be a long time still before sleep finds him.


	6. Chapter 6

An ear-splitting shriek rings out across the cramped office. Employees spring to their feet, craning their heads over the tops of their cubicles like corporate meerkats on the lookout for predators.

“We got it!” Richie shouts from the sales cluster, punching the air. “First contract on the new platform!” 

Ciao Co dissolves into chaos. Even though he’s not in sales, even though he really did nothing to land this deal, Yuuri gets caught up in the action too, enveloped in the hoard of back patting and cheering and wide, infectious grins.

Someone pops a bottle of champagne from a desk drawer - which is definitely _not allowed_ \- and soon there are Dixie cups from the kitchenette being passed around, double shots of champagne and slightly-hysterical laughter.

Yuuri is feeling a bit giddy himself, and he can’t tell if it’s the excitement in the room or the bubbles going to his head. Phichit, forever comfortable in every section of the office, has wound up with the bottle in his hand, legal drinking age disregarded. He’s perched on one of the sales consultants’ desks and already expounding on the future of the company.

“Worldwide in no time,” he says, snapping his fingers. “And when we open up auxiliary offices in Thailand…” he throws his arms open, grinning, “I’ll fly you all out to visit!”

Over the mixture of laughter and groans, Yuuri can doesn’t hear Mr. Cialdini’s voice. Someone nudges him, and it finally sinks in that his name is being called. He turns, and the boss beckons him to come into the office. A lead weight drops into the bottom of Yuuri’s stomach.

He’s pretty confident he’s done nothing wrong, but that logic will never shake the immediate feeling that he’s in _trouble_. The short walk through the cubicle farm to Mr. Cialdini’s office might as well be a climb to the gallows.

When he reaches the open door, Celestino is already seated behind his broad, metal rectangle of a desk. He nods at Yuuri to take the other seat, and Yuuri perches on the edge, hands on his knees. 

The boss is smiling. That’s a good sign.

“Yuuri,” Celestino says. “I’m sure you just heard the news about the contract. We also have some other contacts pending; I expect we’ll get another client by the end of this week.”

Yuuri’s smile is weak, but he tries it anyway. “That’s great, sir,” he says.

Celestino leans back in his chair, and his desk clangs as his knee collides with the inside. “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that the client signed after seeing your presentation at the conference. It seems they were just as impressed as I’ve been.”

Yuuri’s face heats at the compliments, but he can’t take all the credit for himself. “Phichit did half the work, sir,” he says quickly. “And we’d never have gotten it together in time if Victor hadn’t helped. They were just as important in this as I was. I only-”

“Yes, Yuuri,” Celestino cuts him off. “Phichit and Victor helped, of course, but Phichit is an intern and Victor doesn’t work here, which means neither of _them_ can be promoted.”

It takes a moment for the word to sink in. “Promoted?” he repeats.

Celestino nods. “I expect to hire a few more analysts in the coming months. If we’re going to have a team, that means we’ll need a team lead.”

“Team lead.” Yuuri should pinch himself. This is not real.

“And as the team grows, a manager.” Celestino’s grin spreads. “Maybe I’m rushing things, but where do you see yourself in ten years, Yuuri? Have you ever had ambitions toward Director?”

The room is spinning. How much champagne fits in a Dixie cup? 

Celestino is still watching him, waiting for an answer.

“Uh, maybe,” Yuuri says. “This is all… really fast. We’ve only got one contract.”

“You’re right,” Celestino says. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s stick with what we know for sure.” He stands, extending his hand across the desk. He curls his fingers, and the synapses in Yuuri’s brain connect.

As they shake hands, Celestino says, “Congratulations, Team Lead Katsuki.”

Yuuri leaves the office on shaking legs. He totters to his desk and falls back into his rickety chair. Across the cubicles, others are still celebrating in little clusters, all work for the day temporarily forgotten. He can hear Phichit’s voice still ringing out over the din, holding court with his eager fans. 

A promotion. He still can’t believe it. He needs to tell someone, but he can’t interrupt Phichit in his moment of triumph. He turns to his computer to check the time. 15:00. It’s 4 AM at home - no one will be awake yet.

The answer is obvious. His thumbs are finding the thread before he can stop to question it.

 **Yuuri:** Are you busy?

 **Victor:** Not for you.

Yuuri flushes, pleased, but then guilt quickly sweeps over it. They haven’t been out in a couple weeks. Yuuri’s been letting his head overrule his heart. It’s almost painful to see how ready Victor is to let it all slide.

 **Yuuri:** We got our first contract.

 **Yuuri:** They saw our presentation at conference.

 **Yuuri:** And I got PROMOTED!

 **Victor:** !!!!!!!

 **Victor:** Amazing!

 **Victor:** We have to celebrate!!!

Victor’s enthusiasm always pulls a smile from Yuuri, even when he’s not there to see it.

“Dinner?” He texts back. 

The response is nothing but a string of emojis, but he gets the idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time... the thrilling conclusion...


	7. Chapter 7

Yuuri folds his hands in his lap. He crosses his legs, then uncrosses them. He puts his hands on the table, then remembers the immaculate white tablecloth and moves them back to his lap. Across the table, Victor is still smiling at him, one elbow propped up and his chin resting in his hand.

There’s a woman in a long black dress playing violin over the hushed conversation and clinking silverware. Yuuri should probably recognize the song, but he can’t think right now. Victor won’t stop looking at him. 

“Do you not like the food?” Victor asks. His own dinner sits half eaten, while Yuuri’s is almost untouched. His mouth shifts, brow furrowing. “I can get them to make you something else. Do you not like Italian? I should have asked before I made the reservation.”

“No,” Yuuri says. It comes out too loud, and he glances around, but none of the other tables have noticed. He twists the napkin on his lap. “The food is good. Just not hungry, I guess.”

In the quiet that follows, Yuuri can finally place the violin melody - _Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet_. He loves this song. His stomach flips.

“Yuuri,” Victor says softly, laying his hand on the table in invitation. “We’re supposed to be celebrating your promotion. This is for you. If you don’t want to be here, we can leave.”

Silence. The violinist finishes, and the other tables clap politely. 

“Is it me?” Victor asks. Yuuri looks up from his lap.The chandelier above them sparkles with gold. Victor is haloed by the lights, his hair more blonde than silver. “Have I said something? I know I can be thoughtless sometimes.”

“No,” Yuuri says quickly, but that’s a polite lie. “Yes,” he sighs instead. “But also no.”

Across the table, Victor buries his face in his hands, mussing his hair with his fingers. When he raises his head, his smile is strained and artificial. “Well, that’s confusing. What can I do? Do you need me to change? Should I be less…” He trails off with a gesture to the finery around them.

“This is fine,” Yuuri says. “It’s wonderful. It’s only that-” if the napkin in his hands was paper, it would be shredded now. 

“I can’t believe it’s real,” he admits. “I can’t understand why you’d want me, why you’d treat me like a… boyfriend, when you didn’t even want me as an employee a few months ago.”

Victor is staring at him again. As Yuuri watches, his expression shifts - confusion, alarm, and then the slow dawn of understanding. 

“That day in the bathroom,” he says. “You interviewed with N-Corp first?”

Yuuri nods. Finally, Victor will understand. Yuuri isn’t meant for him. Yuuri wasn’t even fit for an entry-level job beneath him.

Instead, Victor laughs, the sound too loud in the quiet restaurant. Other diners are starting to look. 

“How did I never put that together?” Victor chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh my god. Yuuri, do you know how many other companies rent space in that building? There are two other offices on the sixth floor alone. Is _that_ really what’s been standing between us?”

Yuuri can’t look at him. His hands are shaking. Stupid. Stupid. Of course he didn’t know. He wasn’t at the interview. He’s the CEO. He’d never be aware of-

“Yuuri?” Victor’s voice is so gentle, kind, like he’d sounded that first day, trying to reach out and calm a total stranger in a bathroom stall.

“Excuse me,” Yuuri mumbles. The room is fuzzy around the edges, blurred with light. His chair groans as he pushes away from the table.

He ends up in the bathroom, the stall like a forcefield. He rests his forehead against the wooden slats on the door. 

The bathroom door thumps softly, closing again. The only noise in the room is the tinny sound of classical music piped through an overhead speaker.

“... please tell me you’re not crying,” Victor says.

Yuuri’s face is dry, but his shoulders are shaking. He can’t make any promises.

The door shifts against his weight as Victor presses back on the other side. “Look, Yuuri,” he says, and takes a deep breath. “You’re brilliant at your job. You should know that. Ciao Co clearly knows your value, which is wonderful, because if they didn’t I would definitely have poached you already. I myself think you’re incredible, and I don’t just mean your work ethic.”

Another shift as Victor steps back again and adds, “When I find out which idiot didn’t hire you on the spot, I’m going to fire him myself.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says quickly, alarmed. “Don’t do that.”

He fumbles for the latch and emerges. His face feels flushed, and he probably looks a wreck, even without crying. His heart stops. Victor’s cheeks are streaked with damp in the unforgiving fluorescent lights, his eyes red-rimmed and shining.

“If I can’t fire them, I may promote them instead,” he says as he steps forward, crowding Yuuri back into the stall. “Because if I was your boss, then I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

The fingers beneath Yuuri’s chin are gentle, tilting his head up just slightly, and the kiss is anything but. Victor makes good on months of wanting, the eager slide of his lips reminding Yuuri that it’s been him leading all this time - Yuuri telling Victor to come forward or back away. Yuuri setting the lines in the sand. As he wraps his arms around Victor’s shoulders and pulls him in tighter, stumbling back into the wall, he thrills to feel one of the world’s most powerful men already gasping beneath his hands. 

Yuuri’s head hits the stall, cradled by Victor’s hand, and it’s Victor who pulls away this time, lips still millimeters apart as he rests his forehead against Yuuri’s.

“Now,” he says breathlessly. “Can we please go get the check? Because I’d rather not every milestone in our relationship occur in a public restroom.” 

This time, Yuuri lets Victor lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! Thanks for joining me on this little adventure - it's been fun. Hope you all had fun too.
> 
> Now it's onward and upward to new and different things!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on the [tungle gym](https://louciferish.tumblr.com).


End file.
